


Comparative Romantic Literature

by kisstheprincessofpurewhite



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Kilt fetish, Married Couple, Married Life, No shade was thrown in the making of this fic, Scottish Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisstheprincessofpurewhite/pseuds/kisstheprincessofpurewhite
Summary: Jamie discovers the Romance section of the local bookshop, and Claire finds the idea of a kilt irresistible. Modern AU, married life in Boston with our favorite Frasers.





	Comparative Romantic Literature

**Author's Note:**

> On the Outlander subreddit, someone posted a picture of a Scottish romance novel with a man on the cover who is clearly meant to look like Sam Heughan as Jamie. This along with my favorite activity in Barnes and Noble is to look at trashy romance novel titles with my friends was the inspiration for this fic.

It took a few minutes for Claire to realize she’d lost her shadow. She knew Jamie hadn’t been anxious to visit the new bookshop on their street corner ( _We have enough books, do we no’?_ ) but she didn’t think he would leave without telling her. She didn’t understand why he was so against coming with her anyway, most of the books in their apartment ( _Jesus Beauchamp, you’ve been too long in Boston_ ) were his.

She’d always lived quite light, ever since she was a little girl circumventing the globe with Uncle Lamb. It was Jamie who’d nearly required a shipping container for all his books, clothes, and various possessions. She’d tried to tell him that it would be easier to sell what they didn’t absolutely need and buy similar in Boston ( _You could leave anything you want at Lallybroch with Jenny_ ). He’d had none of it ( _Aye, but what if we need it_ ). The result was a tiny flat on a third floor walk-up with enough room for a path from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen, and little else.

She would get mad at him--and did, frequently--for the mess if he hadn’t been right (damn him) for a lot of the things he’d brought with him. He had been right most of all with the books. His new position at his Uncle’s whisky company had turned out to be less taxing than he had originally assumed, and allowed him ample time to read. It was comforting to come home from class--usually in the late hours of the night--to her husband idly reading or passed out with a book on his chest, the lines that occupied his forehead as of late smoothing out under his red-gold curls.

So when a Saturday afternoon opened up for her, she had been giddy with all the possibilities for the two of them. Initially she had wanted to suggest staying in--there would be time for that later--but she also wanted to step foot someplace that wasn’t on campus, her usual lunch-spot, or their flat. She’d passed by this bookshop everyday and had watched the building transform from an empty shop with a “For Lease” sign in a window to a flurry of construction and activity to the haven of stories and knowledge it had now become. So, given Jamie’s latest penchant to read anything with text and her desire to step out of the rut she’d made for herself, the bookshop had seemed the perfect place.

She’d come home from a study session with Joe at around 11 to Jamie pouring over the data from the American sales of Mackenzie’s Finest. He looked so on edge, hunched over the desk shoved into the corner. His two fingers were tapping as he read over the document in front of him, his leg bouncing up and down from anxiety for activity. She knew his every look, his every movement even. She ran her hand over the expansive muscles of his back, feeling the stress fall out of the knots under her touch. He sighed as she wrapped her arms under his and pressed a kiss into his neck.

“Afternoon,” he sighed again.

“It’s still morning.”

“Oh, aye?” She nodded into his neck. “You’re early. Finally decided to let ye off the leash did they?”

“A true busman’s holiday.” He chuckled. “Need a distraction?”

His demeanor changed slightly, but Claire was firm in her decision. “Get your shoes on,” she told him as she jogged into the bedroom to deposit her bag, coming back out with her purse. Her husband had been obedient, slipping on trainers and a jacket, but the scowl on his face spoke his true thoughts about the situation. He stood by the door with his arms crossed as Claire joined him.

“Don’t look so glum, I promise to let you commit any ravishment you desire later,” she teased.

“Where’re we goin’?” He ignored her comment, which caused her to realize how callous it had probably sounded.

“Just to the corner, there’s a new bookshop.”

He’d groaned, but came along. They’d barely spoken on the short walk over. She’d slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked, and he’d bent his arm in response to let her hold on better, but there was no interaction otherwise. Once inside, she’d made a beeline to the horticulture section, wanting to see if they had the new book she had been reading about, Jamie trailing along behind her. She’d spoken to one of the shopkeepers about the selection, keenly aware of the great Scot sighing not so subtly and circling the same display of cookbooks behind her.

“You must excuse my husband,” she said to the young girl after looking over her shoulder for what felt the 10th time.

“Don’t worry ma’am, we get that all the time.” The girl was cheerful, and very knowledgeable about the subject Claire was interested in.

She had been so engrossed in her conversation that she hadn’t even noticed Jamie slip away. “My shadow seems to have disappeared,” Claire joked and the girl chuckled. “I’d better go find him, thank you for your help.”

“Anytime ma’am.” The girl left Claire to her searching.

She debated calling him, but the shop was so small it seemed rather silly--surely she could find him without resorting to technology. Claire peeked into the Biography/History section first--thinking it the natural choice, but was disappointed. Next was Fiction and she yet again came up short. He wasn’t in Children’s books or Sci-fi/Fantasy. She was going to check to see if he was waiting by the front when she’d had to double back. She’d almost missed him, but there he was: in Romance. She stood there for a moment, taken aback.

Jamie’s eyes met hers, flashing with mirth. “Sassenach, take a look at this.” He held up a book with a man and woman in passionate embrace on the cover. The title was in broad gold letters: “Tartan’s Embrace.” She walked towards him, hand outstretched to get a better look at the book. The woman was blonde, and it was difficult to tell the period of dress she was wearing as it was barely clinging to her near-naked body. The man was naked from the waist up with a red and black tartan kilt covering his lower half.

“There are many more.” Jamie gestured to the shelf. He took one off the shelf and made an amused Scottish noise. “‘The Mad Lord of Castle MacDonald,’” he read the title. “What is it about Americans?”

“I’d assume they find the accent attractive.” She put the book she was holding back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“‘Tis more than the accent, I mean, look-” He held out another one with the title “Highlander in the Sheets.” “It’s cultural appropriation.”

Claire laughed and shook her head. Jamie put the book back, a smile on his face as he read the other titles. She couldn’t help but picture it: Jamie in a kilt, the British coming to take their land any day now, the rolling hills and heather of Scotland, his hand gripping her sides as he pulled him to her, his bright blue eyes--usually calm, now wild--boring into hers as he whispered in her ear: “There’s two of us now, Sassenach.”

The vision faded almost as soon as it had come, but left Claire hot in all the places she shouldn’t be in public. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come here after all. She grabbed a book to occupy herself, but then immediately regretted it.

“What have ye got there?” Jamie asked, peeking at hers. “Och, ‘Heather and Seduction’?”

She looked down, her resolve breaking.

“Hey, Sassenach.” He took the book from her, not noticing her current state of duress. “Don’tcha think this one looks a little bit like me, aye?”

* * *

She slammed the door behind them and pushed him up against it, giving her best effort to fuse her mouth to his. She felt so hot, all over and didn’t see any other way to relieve it. If Jamie knew the reason for her madness, he did not mention it, only let her have her way as she felt along the hardlines of his body. He hooked one leg over his hip, bringing her aching need closer, but not nearly close enough.

She tore off him, breathing heavily as she stared up at him, his hair standing on end. He smiled a playful smile, and brought his hand up to cup her cheek. The gesture was met by her mouth, sinking her teeth into his flesh hard enough to make her intentions clear.

He cursed. “Damned vixen, dinna do tha’.” He knew, he had to. There was no other reason for his burr to deepen like it had just then.

Her eyes met his defiantly. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

“Aye, is tha’ so?”

“Aye.” She stood looking at him for a moment before taking off for the bedroom, he close on her heels behind her.

He shed his shirt in the doorway and she made quick of hers and her pants. She usually enjoyed the pleasure of stripping him down as vice versa for him, but this was an emergency. He fondled her naked backside as she cursed the hooks on her bra.

“It’s not fair, you have less clothes than I do,” she said. She squeaked as he lifted her up and dropped her face up on the bed.

“You know, Sassenach? I dinna think I care.” His voice was low as he climbed over her, kissing her all over as she writhed underneath him.

He drove into her soon enough, quick to please her as he took his own pleasure, whispering in her ear as she keened. His fingers running through her curly hair as she came down from her high.

She'd finally pulled the bra over her head, breaking the spell of silence that had been cast over them after they’d finished. They lay back on top of the covers, embracing each other.

“Good distraction?” she’d asked, and then immediately regretted it as the lines appeared on his forehead yet again.

He shook his head, smiling despite his apparent stress. “Aye, it was. We must do it again.”

She didn’t want him to think about his dissatisfaction with work right now. Anything she could do to take his mind off of that would be a job well done, even if it meant her embarrassment. “Do you have a kilt?” Claire immediately ducked her head down, avoiding his eyes. It had taken all her gall to even ask to begin with.

His chest shook and she looked up to see him covering his mouth with his hand as he tried to contain his laughter. She thumped his chest with her hand, and he sighed. “Aye, I do. It’s at home, at Lallybroch though.” He ran his thumb along her arm, making her shiver. “It was my father’s before me. Fraser colors.” He spoke with a deep reverence, and Claire couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t spoken about it before.

“You’ll have to show me.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps, Sassenach.”

“Perhaps? You can’t tell me something like that, something that is important to you and your family and not show me.”

“Have you ever tried to wear a long piece of wool as a skirt? I think no’. A damn nuisance puttin’ on for you to just rip off to have your way wi’ me.”

She laughed. “Alright, alright, if I promise to contain myself, will you show me?”

He nodded. “I could never deny you anything, mo nighean donn.” He sighed, sitting up against the headboard. “I could’ve brought it with us, had I no’ been limited to the measliest of possessions you insisted upon.”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “How was I supposed to know the thought of you in a kilt would be irresistible? You’ve far too much stuff as it is, crammed into our little flat.”

He hummed and bent down to kiss her. “If tha’ was the mere thought of a kilt, Sassenach, I canny wait ‘til ye see the real thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to be taken as shade towards any romance novel writers or readers. Clearly I am just as bad, as evident by this fic. Whatever your cheese is, have at it without fear of shame or judgement--there is certainly none directed from here.  
> Any similarities to titles in this fic is pure coincidence. I purposely tried to not make them the same as actual titles, but considering how wild some real titles can get, it wouldn't surprise me if some of these exist.  
> I quite liked writing this, and might write more in this same universe, but I make no guarantees. Thank you for reading.


End file.
